DELIVER(86)

Gut-twisting curiosity shuffled her feet forward. With the gun rattling in her hand, she slid her other hand through the sparse hair on the heads. Each strand was different from the other but also…the same. They varied in hues of brown, intricately combed together and sewn into some kind of mesh cap glued to the scalps. The fibers between her fingers weren’t glossy like synthetic hair. They felt thinner, some damaged, realistic…familiar.

She jerked her hand back, her stomach bubbling toward her throat. Oh God. Her hair. Why? Jesus, f*ck, what did it mean? She pressed a fist against her belly, backed up, and slammed into a hard body.

A hint of cologne touched her nose. The width of torso was too big. She turned, but Van’s arm around her chest caught her, pinning her back to his chest. His hand squeezed her breast, and she sucked in a breath. If she shot him, the contract on Mattie’s life would be activated.

She pressed the side of the gun against her thigh to thwart the shaking in her hand.

His lips touched her shoulder, her neck, the scar, creeping goosebumps over her skin. “I know you don’t approve of them, Liv. But I needed something to remember you by.”





Chapter 39




“What are you doing with the gun, Liv?”

Van’s voice was a low, strumming pulse in her ears. But there was an unraveling edge to it that scared the shit out of her. She drew in a breath and hoped to hell Josh stayed out of sight.

She trailed her fingertips over the back of his hand where he cupped her breast, to soothe him, to reestablish their f*cked-up connection. “I thought you’d taken a permanent vacation.”

He sank his teeth into the side of her throat, not enough to break skin, but the sharp pinch stole her breath and raised her on tip-toes. One shift of his hand and he could break her neck.

She leaned into the bite. “Did you come back to kill me?”

His arm and teeth released her with a jerk. She fell forward, righted herself, and spun with the gun raised in both hands.

Three days of stubble darkened his jaw. His steely eyes were void of their usual glint, sagging beneath his hood. His smirk seemed forced as he slid a toothpick in his mouth. “You’re the one pointing a gun.”

She aimed at his chest. His jacket concealed the strength of his body, but she knew every muscle, every twitch, every scar. He’d taken her virginity, trained her as a sex slave, whipped her, f*cked her, and loved her. She wasn’t any different from him. With one exception. She responded to the word No.

The light in the doorway behind him rippled. She didn’t shift her eyes, fearing it would give away Josh’s presence. To distract Van, she backed to the wall, until the length of the room separated them, and jerked her chin at the dolls. “Do they mean you won’t be pulling my hair anymore?”

“I won’t have a choice.” He searched her face longingly, desperately, as if collecting every detail into a special pocket of memory made just for her.

I needed something to remember you by.

She shivered and steadied the gun. “Why did you come back?”

The heat in his eyes said, To f*ck you. His suspicious non-answers said, To kill you.

“Just say it, Van.” If she shot him, Mattie was dead. If he killed her, Josh would kill him. Mattie was dead either way.

“I’m sorry about your mom.” Sincerity wrinkled the skin around his eyes, but his voice was a monotone hum. His lips clenched on the toothpick, flattening into a line. His gaze hardened.

He was planning something cruel. Her molars sawed together, her nerves stretching. She bit down so hard on her cheek the taste of copper filled her mouth. “You murdered Mom.”

His face clouded, his timbre scratchy. “I’m sorry. I…” His expression blanked. He reached behind his back.

Jesus, he was going to kill her. Her heart stopped, and her finger slid over the trigger.

Time throttled into a series of choices, measured by the slam of her heart and the cascading motions that followed. Van tugged at something in the back of his jeans. She squeezed the trigger, and Josh yelled, “No!”

The recoil reverberated down her arms, and Van stumbled sideways.

He slumped against the bar. A dark circle of blood spread on the shoulder of his black t-shirt. He frowned at the crumpled paper in his hand, and the toothpick fell from his slack mouth.

“Oh, God.” Her voice was an echo in her fuzzy head. She lowered the gun, blinked. He hadn’t been reaching for a weapon.

He laughed, coughed. “I deserved that.” His legs slid out from beneath him, and he toppled to the floor.

Josh skidded through the room, tucking his gun in his jeans, his panic jolting her to move. Numb with shock, she handed the gun to him and knelt beside Van.

A river of blood soaked his shirt, coursed down his arm, and pooled beneath him. He lay on his back and peered up at her with the most heart-breaking expression on his contorted, beautiful face. No hint of anger or blame. It was as if he knew he was dying, and he was okay with it.

She pushed his hood off his forehead and cupped his damp cheeks. “You killed my mom. I thought you were going to kill me.”

He shook his head in the frame of her hands. “Tried to save her.” His chest heaved. “Drove…wasn’t fast enough.” He gripped her wrist and held her eyes, his nostrils flaring. “I was too late.” His eyebrows clenched together, and his breaths rushed out as he squeezed his shoulders against the floor. “I’m sorry.”